


The Last Bullet

by bos10blonde



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: Alcohol, Bullets, Do NOT read if you haven't finished S2, Grief, Guns, I'm publicly in mourning for you-know-who, Spoilers for all of Season 2, There is NO FLUFF HERE, only sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:28:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26586640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bos10blonde/pseuds/bos10blonde
Summary: Janine De Luca can't sleep. She's trying to remember something a dear friend said to her once.
Relationships: Janine De Luca/Sara Smith
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	The Last Bullet

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after the Season 2 Finale, before Season 3.
> 
> This was written during a Zombies, Make! challenge! Be sure to look at the tag #zombiesmake on Tumblr and find the other amazing work produced by this quote. Thanks to Crownleys and Puptart on Tumblr for hosting!

**The Last Bullet**

_19 Sep 2020 Zombies Make! Round 2, Prompt 3_ – S1M10 Quote:

SARA SMITH: Lord love ya, I’d say that to your face! You’re a spiky loner, and you can be damned difficult to deal with, but I’d trust you with the last bullet in my pistol!

CWs: Major character death, grief, alcohol, guns, bullets, Season 2 Spoilers

Janine couldn’t sleep again. Sleeplessness was beginning to become a common ailment around Abel, which shouldn’t be surprising given that they were all living through the literal (post-) apocalypse. Despite this, Janine was generally able to avoid that particular annoyance with enough determined compartmentalization. Running oneself down by not sleeping would only harm one’s performance, she’d tell anyone who would listen. Not enough sleep made one sloppy, dulled the senses. Everyone needed to stay sharp these days, for the good of all of Abel. Sara would have said so, too.

Sara always used to say things like that.

Used to.

Janine flinched. She’d used the past tense in her own mind. Was that the first time she’d thought about Sara in the past tense? It had been almost a week by now; surely, her brain had gotten the message that she was…

Janine kicked off the thin sheet, damp with sweat, that constricted around her like a net. There was no use pretending she was going to be able to sleep at all tonight. Janine rose from her bed and padded in her socks to the kitchen. She scanned the counters idly, looking for something to do, and settled on scrubbing the pans she’d set in the sink to soak earlier. The familiar chore was enough to keep her hands busy, at least, even though it still let her mind wander down dark, twisting alleys.

Out of the corner of her eye, Janine noticed the empty wine bottle sitting on the counter. Just enough moonlight filtered through the window above the sink to make out the vineyard logo on the label: a stylized sketch of a sailing ship riding high on choppy waters. Janine tried her best to ignore its staunch presence.

When she ran out of pans to clean, Janine stood idly in front of the sink for a moment, unable to ignore the column of glass, after all. This bottle of wine was the one Sara had brought the last time they’d had a wine night. How long ago had that been now? Janine tried to place it, but it felt like peering through mists. It was before rumors of a traitor had begun circling, certainly, but obviously after Sara had come back from the dead--on a boat, of all things. Sara had picked the brand specifically as a reference to her return, laughing in that throaty way when she’d shown it to Janine.

Janine picked up the bottle, rolling the cold, thick glass between her palms. Something caught her eye about the boat, and Janine squinted in the dim light. Someone had scratched the outline of a figure on the ship’s deck beside the initials B.A.S. Janine tried to swallow hard around the knot in her throat but got caught halfway through. Janine knew it had something to with Sara’s family from before the outbreak. Sara had probably scratched it in with one of the knives she always had on her, in a wistful moment.

How long had it been since Janine and Sara had laughed together? It felt like months, but it couldn’t possibly have been that long. Then again, things happened so fast around Abel. One day, a helicopter had been shot down in a shocking turn of events; last week, they’d shot one down themselves. And one day, Janine was in the comms shack, listening to Sam direct Sara and the other runners through missions. Now Sara was gone.

Janine set the bottle down carefully. She could practically still hear Sara’s voice in the back of her mind, although she knew that was ridiculous. Sara had been her one friend in Abel, the only other person involved in all The Major’s plans and understood the true importance of Abel from the beginning. One of only two people she’d ever really opened up to. And Simon…Janine couldn’t even finish the thought. That one was still unresolved—an open, gaping wound that hadn’t decided if it would fester or scar. At least Janine knew how Sara’s story ended, no matter how she wished she didn’t.

Janine felt cavernously hollow. She hadn’t thought about it much until now. She hadn’t realized how much she’d kept everyone else away, or what it would mean if her sole source of support was suddenly gone. Why was she always so…standoffish?

_“You’re a spiky loner, and you can be damned difficult to deal with.”_

Janine heard the words so vividly she jumped, half-convinced she had hallucinated Sara’s voice behind her. Sara had said that to her once. Janine frantically searched her brain, trying to remember the context. Sara’s voice sounded so matter-of-fact in memory; not teasing, but not an insult either. But that wasn’t the whole conversation…Janine _knew_ had said something else after. Why couldn’t she remember? Janine never had issues remembering things, but her head felt like it was underwater.

Frustrated, Janine stalked out of the kitchen to the front door, stomping into her shoes before diving into the crisp post-midnight air. If she wasn’t going to sleep, she needed to be doing something useful, needed to be moving. Janine started walking, following the exterior walls, not knowing or caring where she was going yet.

A few other figures moved around camp, shuffling through the darkness with slumped shoulders. They were other residents of Abel, using the chill moonlight to chase away nightmares or memories, just like she was. Some nodded to Janine, but she couldn’t bring herself to engage. She kept walking.

By now, Janine had left the stretch of grass that was once her front yard, footfalls tapping lightly against the hard-packed earth comprising most of Abel’s pathways. She was walking towards the front gates now, walking through one of the guard towers’ deep black shadows. Faintly, Janine could hear the distinctive static burst that signaled the start of a radio message and knew some of the guards must be talking to each other. Maybe someone had seen something exciting, some new threat she could throw herself into defending against, knowing the consequences if she failed.

Shots rang out from the guard tower opposite the gate from Janine. Three shots; three dull cracks breaking through the stillness of the night. There was another burst of static, and Janine knew the guards had taken down a zom wandering too close to camp. The sound of gunfire had become so familiar she hadn’t even flinched. The sounds of fire and gunpowder and bullets smacking into half-decayed flesh…

_“I’d trust you with the last bullet in my pistol!”_

The full memory Sara’s words, summoned by the sounds that too often followed her on her runs, hit Janine like a slap to the face.

_“Lord love ya, I’d say that to your face! You’re a spiky loner, and you can be damned difficult to deal with, but I’d trust you with the last bullet in my pistol!”_

That was what Sara had said. She’d been speaking to Janine over the radio while on some mission months ago that seemed critically important then. Back when zombies and rations and keeping the lab secret were the only problems they’d had to deal with. Long before Sara had been…

How could Janine forget something like that?

She treasured the trust they’d built, the friendship they had. Why was she only remembering these words now?

Because she’d taken it for granted there would be more where that came from, Janine realized. She’d never thought—never actually let herself _believe_ that Sara could disappear again or for good. Not after she’d come back from the (un)dead once; not after knowing all they did about The Major’s plan. They were controlling the situation, making sure Sara could get regular treatments, carefully moving pawns and setting up fake-out missions so Sara’s role would be safe as they gathered crucial information on Van Ark.

But Sara had gone and sacrificed herself anyway.

Sara sacrificed herself over and over again, especially on that last day. She waited too long to ask Van Ark for her next treatment so she could watch over Runner Five’s torture, making sure it didn’t go too far. She’d distracted zombies away from Paula, although neither of them could afford the delay. She’d given up Ed’s motorbike and her chance at getting treatment in time so they could catch Simon.

Sara had known the whole time, hadn’t she? There was never any chance she’d be alright once they took down Van Ark and the treatments preventing her from turning grey.

Silent, hot tears ran down Janine’s face. She could hear it all, could hear every last word from Sara’s final mission echoing in her skull. Janine hadn’t been letting herself remember, hadn’t been allowing herself to think about it. She wanted to cover her ears and make the words stop.

_“…The last bullet in my pistol.”_

Electrified by an idea, Janine turned on her heel and sprinted for the runner’s quarters. She pounded through the maze of hallways and mismatched doors, looking for the number of the room to which she’d assigned Runner Five. Five, who had run so often with Sara while Janine could only squint at monitors from kilometers away. Janine paused next to a common area, noting a pile of pillows and sleeping runners huddled together in one great heap, moving on when she didn’t see the tiny blonde Five among them.

One of Five’s roommates opened the door to Janine’s loud knocking, half-awake and blinking confusedly while Five scrambled down from her place on a top bunk. Janine could see from the slightly wild look in Five’s eyes that the runner hadn’t been sleeping either. Janine remembered Sara had been training Five since the runner’s arrival. They might have been close too. Janine felt a pang, mostly of sympathy.

Janine spoke quietly but urgently. Did Five still have the sidearm Sara had lent her during that mission? Would she mind bringing it here?

The runner looked baffled but didn’t question Janine’s request. Five darted back into the room and retrieved the pistol and its magazine, stored separately, and moved back into the hallway with the cleared weapon carefully trained away from Janine or anyone’s room. After a quick conversation, Five deftly emptied the magazine of bullets, handing Janine the one at the bottom of the stack. Janine thanked Five quickly, then left immediately, not caring to explain.

Janine burst out of the runner’s quarters back into the night, one fist clenched tightly at her side. She didn’t realize where she was going until she was standing in front of the map pinned to the comms shack wall, staring at the topographical chart with its scrawled lines and notes about Dedlocks and zombie hordes.

It was no use. Janine had no idea where the runners held their memorial ceremonies. Sam had refused to tell her, in a rare show of spine. And they hadn’t had time yet for a proper burial ceremony with the entranced disappearance of half the town’s residents. There was no way for Janine to go lay something at Sara’s grave or memorial or _something_ in the middle of the night, not without a comm operator planning the route or getting herself killed.

Janine frowned at the realization that she’d actually been considering leaving Abel after dark for a sentimental tribute. It wasn’t like her to be this impulsive. Her head pounded, begging for sleep and relief that were not to come.

Shaking her head, Janine opened her hand and stared at the bullet she had been grasping hard enough to imprint into her palm. Janine stood in the silent comms shack like that for a long time, staring at a lump of metal gleaming dully in the moonlight.

This bullet, inert and lifeless in her hand, was the last one in the pistol Sara had given to Five. Sara hadn’t had a weapon on her when she’d…at the end. Van Ark had made sure of that. If Sara had had this pistol on her last mission, this would have been the final shot she fired. Knowing Sara, each shot would have taken down a zom or one of Van Ark’s goons. But she’d never gotten the chance; instead, Janine was staring at the last bullet in Sara’s pistol, one that would never be used.

Janine didn’t know how long she stood in contemplation the brass cylinder, nor could she later remember what was going through her mind at that moment. At long last and without reaching any form of resolution, Janine dropped the bullet into a pocket and left the comms shack. She could feel the tiny weight of it the whole walk back to the farmhouse and vowed it was one she would always carry from now on.

Janine didn’t know yet what she would do the bullet, but it was one of the precious few mementos of a dear friend she had, and she wasn’t going to let it go willingly. The cold night air battered against the drying tear tracks on her cheeks, and Janine felt as if Abel was spinning rapidly around her.

Never again would Janine forget the trust Sara had placed in her.

It was funny, Janine thought with an odd detachment, how an off-handed remark and a single bullet could mean so much when the person who’d given them was gone.


End file.
